


Remembering You

by megangster



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, this is sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megangster/pseuds/megangster
Summary: It's like it all hit him at once. He loved Richie.





	Remembering You

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii I haven't written for this fandom in so long but somehow I always get sucked back in because I will love Richie and Eddie forever :)
> 
> This is for an anon prompt I got on my tumblr (@eddiekasp) asking for HCs about Richie and Eddie realizing they love each other. I did this more from Eddie's perspective, both as a kid and as an adult. I didn't focus on Richie's perspective as much bc... tbh I feel like his love for Eddie is so inherent its almost a part of who he is hahaha so he didn't have a particular moment. But if you'd like me to do another chapter from Richie's perspective lmk!!
> 
> (Also, I've been considering updating "Must Be A Better Word," would anyone want that?)
> 
> Enjoy! Any comments are much appreciated!!

Eddie felt a lump in his throat. He was still trying to figure out whether that was from the distance he had biked from his house to Richie’s or a reaction indicating his body was betraying him. His mind had been itching all day. It started with, perhaps, an off-hand comment from his Ma. Nothing completely out of the ordinary, but there are days where her comments were taken better than others.

She had been sitting in their plush living room while Eddie was rifling through a drawer in the kitchen nearby. Her thick legs, snaked with bulging blue veins, outstretched to the leg rest of her brown Lay-Z-Boy chair. The television blared loudly, a news anchor in a pressed suit and muted tie announced the death of a teenager in Florida. Ricky Ray, 15 years old, had succumbed to AIDS and “died peacefully” in his home after exhibiting a courageous battle with the still-mysterious disease. Eddie’s ears twitched towards the broadcast, listening just enough to hear the basis of the story. He shuffled uncomfortably, and continued to search for the good pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer.

“Eddie Bear, did you hear?” came his mother’s voice in the other room. As though avoiding his grasp deliberately, the scissors seemed to slip further down into the drawer, further into the collection of pens, plastic floss toothpicks (Eddie had always thought they looked like mini slingshots), and extra wooden chopsticks collected from countless orders of Chinese takeout. He picked at the skin on his thigh absentmindedly. Fingers finally grasping the cool metal of the closed blades, he pulled out the scissors and walked to his Ma’s calling voice.

“That boy that’s been all over the news, the one with AIDS. He died,” she trailed off, clicking her tongue. After a moment’s thought, “Serves him right. There’s a reason God created that gay disease.” She flicked the remote to a channel showing some hospital soap opera and grabbed another powdered donut from the box she had purchased at the supermarket.

“Want to watch with me, Eddie? I think _Dallas_ is on next,” Sonia hummed, mouth rimmed with white sugar. Eddie swallowed thickly and didn’t say anything. He walked over to his Ma, kissed her on the cheek, and retreated to his bedroom upstairs.

He finally got the box he had been toying with open and sat back on his bed, heart racing. If his mother knew about him, about the things he was feeling and the things he thought about every night before he fell asleep, would she wish he’d gotten AIDS too? His palms felt clammy. He wished he didn’t have to go to church with her on Sunday.

His hands subconsciously reached for the phone receiver as he got up. Without a second thought, his thin fingers dialed a number he knew by heart. After two rings, a familiar voice, comforting in the same way grass tickling bare feet in the summer is comforting, answered.

“Why, if it isn’t my little Eddie Spaghetti. To what do I owe this pleasure?” said Richie Tozier, voice having grown more confident and strong after the start of high school. Why did Eddie’s hands seem to get even clammier? He wiped them on the side of his shorts, grossed out.

“Shut up, asshole. Can I come over? I’m sick of being here right now,” Eddie replied, his voice growing quieter in the last sentence. Richie sensed Eddie’s anxiety over the phone.

“Anytime. I’ll unlock the front door, so just come in.” Richie instructed, and Eddie mumbled a word of thanks before hanging up the phone.

Packing his bag and hoping his mom would allow him to stay the night, Eddie ran downstairs. He had been attempting (thanks to the encouragement of the Losers– Richie especially) to act more assertive towards his mother. Rather than whispering a request and relenting the second he got a “no,” he began to simply state what he was doing and try to leave before his mother got a chance to answer. When he got downstairs, he told his mom he was sleeping over at Richie’s house and would be back first thing in the morning. Through her discouragement, she finally subsided and he got on his bike.

When he got to Richie’s house, he slowly entered through the open front door to find that both of Richie’s parents had yet to return home. He climbed the carpeted stairs and knocked on Richie’s bedroom door. Since they had been kids, the wooden door had been laden with stickers, caution tape, and a piece of paper onto which “RICHIE’S ROOM! KEEP OUT OR AWAIT PAINFUL DEATH!” was crudely written.

“Come in,” Richie answered in a softer voice than usual. Eddie came in, taking off his shoes and putting them by the door as he closed it behind him. He noticed Richie peer up at him, and then quickly look back down at the bass guitar he was holding on his lap. Richie had recently taken up playing bass, and Eddie didn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him how cool he thought it really was.

Eddie sat on Richie’s bed and Richie came to join him after putting his bass back on the stand. Richie sat close enough to Eddie that their knees brushed, and Eddie felt a shiver go up his back. Richie, taking a deep breath, turned to look Eddie straight in the eyes and asked him what had happened.

“What makes you think something happened?” Eddie retorted, and Richie could see there was something he didn’t want to talk about.

“I won’t press you if you don’t wanna talk about it, Eds. But if you do, well… y'know.” Richie mumbled and stretched his arms up. Eddie tried not to peer at the way his t-shirt lifted slightly, and at the trail of black hair leading down from his belly button. It wasn’t that Eddie couldn’t confide in Richie. He knew that if it was something serious, Richie knew how to turn off the voices and annoying nicknames and listen and comfort. In fact, Eddie thought (maybe other than Bill) that Richie was the person who was the easiest to confide in. He wanted to let Richie in. He wanted Richie to hug him and tell him it was gonna be okay. Why did he want that?

“Just… my Ma. As usual.” Eddie choked a bit on his words, finding it hard to talk about the particular comment that had snagged onto him like a bur. He knew why his mother’s comment had gotten to him, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to express that to Richie yet. God forbid Richie thought he was… well. He was. But God forbid Richie found out.

As though reading his mind, Richie put a long, thin arm around Eddie’s neck and pulled him in for a quick peck on the cheek. This was not unusual for them, but Eddie’s face burned hot as Richie pulled away. Richie thought he noticed Eddie lingering for a moment too long.

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You know that,” Richie whispered, a bit too serious for comfort. Eddie’s treasonous heart skipped a beat and he nodded.

Eddie had nearly given up on his physics homework when Richie came out of the shower later that evening. With nothing but a navy blue towel wrapped around his thin waist, he walked over to his drawer and dug out a pair of grey sweatpants. He pulled them on without a second thought and joined Eddie to sit on the edge of his bed. At once, Eddie began to complain about the difficulty of his homework, and dramatically fell back onto the bed. Richie laughed his bright laugh, and told him to forget it.

Eddie knew Richie couldn’t do anything without music playing in the background and observed as Richie dug through a box of CDs he kept under his bed. His mother hated the rock music he listened to, but usually respected Richie enough not to rummage through his things as she cleaned his room. His fingers finally landed on a CD, and he popped it into his player. After a few clicks, a song Eddie had heard Richie play as he drove them both to school came on. Richie kept the volume on low, however, rather than the absurdly loud volume that was typical for his driving.

Eddie felt his hands twitch as he observed a bead of water that hung on a ringlet of Richie’s black hair. It grew heavy and fell, cascading down his pale and freckled back. Eddie’s eyes followed it’s trail as it sank further, between his shoulder blades and down the protruding bones of his spine. He sat back up.

Richie turned back around, nodding his head to the beat of the song. Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ “Suck My Kiss” streamed out of the small CD player, and Richie mimicked both the drums and the bass line of the song in time. Richie really was a pretty good musician, Eddie had to admit. Still, Eddie couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled in his throat as he watched his best friend pretending to be a rock star in nothing but a pair of sweats.

Richie laughed alongside Eddie, groping his nightstand for his glasses and telling Eddie that he’s been trying to learn this song on the bass for a couple days. Eddie told him he wanted to hear him play. Richie smiled blindingly and said he’ll show him once he gets it right.

Richie threw on a worn t-shirt and laid back on his bed. Eddie rolled over and pressed himself into Richie’s side, and Richie threw his arm around him again like it was nothing. It was as if Richie’s side was molded perfectly for Eddie after so many nights in the same position. Richie’s hair, freshly washed, smelled clean and Eddie scarcely held himself back from putting his face into the curls. Through the clean, a prickly smell of cigarette smoke lingered on Richie’s sheets as they always did. He wondered if Richie’s mom noticed when she changed his bedding. He felt a wave of warmth rush into his stomach. He wanted to stay like this forever.

He was in love with Richie Tozier.

*****

When Eddie got the phone call from Mike Hanlon from Derry (fuck, was that still foreign), memories flooded him like sick waves of sewer water. Flashes of moments, some bright as sunlight and others red as blood, seemed to list through his mind like a dead man’s last moments on Earth. He reached for the aspirator that was searing a hole through its permanent place in his jeans pocket, thinking that if he didn’t get some goddamn air in his throat he’d burn from the inside out.

The flicker of sunlight reflecting off a pair of coke-bottle glasses.

The buzzing feeling in your ears after loud music is turned off suddenly. A bead of sweat tickling your temple. The glowing heat on your cheek after a peck.

The quick beating of your heart after your first _real_ kiss.

The feeling of falling asleep in your jeans, your face against a warm back and the smell of cigarette smoke.

Richie. Richie.

Walking into Jade of the Orient, Eddie picked at the fabric of the jeans near his thigh, a habit he hadn’t indulged in since high school. He was about to see his childhood friends, people he hadn’t thought about since he left for college more than 20 years prior. He was going to see Richie.

“Holy shit,” was all Eddie could utter when he stepped into the private room and saw Bill and Mikey. His blood ran cold as he rushed in to hug the two of them. The hug was deep and consoling, and yet Eddie could not quell his rushing heart beat, nor the goosebumps that rose on all of his exposed skin. It was more than sheer nervousness; it was terrible fear.

And then Richie came in, sounding the large decorative Chinese gong that stood by the doorway. Eddie couldn’t prevent himself from jumping a foot into the air at the sound, his nerves already standing on end. When he turned around, his heart rose into his throat.

His and Richie’s eyes connected and he felt like he couldn’t breath. Was this what it felt like to be in love? He seemed to have forgotten.

He remembered now.


End file.
